


A Risk

by WeAllFlyHigh



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Implied Violence, implied attempted cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAllFlyHigh/pseuds/WeAllFlyHigh
Summary: There was two ways this could end. One, France agrees to help win his independence or he buries his teeth in America's neck and maybe fights Britain for the hell of it.
Kudos: 13





	A Risk

There was two ways this could end, and both made his heart pound.

America rolled a bullet between his fingers as he leaned against the wall. He faced the window. It was a shoddy attempt at keeping his composure. His neck was tense. His jaw was locked. And his eyes scanned frantically for any sign of betrayal. How could his throat feel like it was full of cotton and like he would choke on his spit if he breathed too deep?

He couldn't reach to loosen his collar. He couldn't do anything that would betray that level of weakness. Enduring the heavily starched collar smothering him was hardly the worst of what he was experiencing now.

The expensive glass panes muffled the noise from outside. But he saw the carriage pass on its way to the door.

Being near another like him, another nation, had always been uncomfortable. He swore they were never meant to live near each other. Not that an ocean had stopped them from clawing their way up his beaches. His skin crawled the moment they set foot on his shores. His skin was burning now.

Two chairs sat at a table in the center of the room. There was nothing else in here of note. They had even taken the drapes from the windows away. While it minimized the weapons that could be improvised against him, it left him without a means to defend himself. All his weapons had been left outside. It was a show of trust they said. As if they didn't have soldiers watching the window.

He heard the floorboards creek.

Footsteps came down the hallway. He couldn't hear any difference between them, but he knew that one of them had to be France.

There was two ways this could end. France was going to come through that door. They could make an alliance to throw England out of his lands. Or France's hands would plunge into his chest, devour his heart, and proceed to try the same with England.

He knew what it meant to be a Nation. He was instinctively drawn to his people. He could feel them; what they needed and what they dreamed about. They wanted this. They dreamed about freedom. He craved it like nothing else.

He had managed to learn some about other nations. He instinctively knew how dangerous they were to him. He knew why his people tried to hide him. For one, he was very young. He could not even pass for a fully grown human. The other nations had centuries of war and hardship and life to draw from. He was too valuable for them to loose.

His people, the few that knew him for what he was, struggled with the concept at first. How could he be so human and so clearly not. Furthermore, in nature so few creatures feared their parents. There was no creature more dangerous than a mother defending its young, they mused. England was supposed to be their mother country. But here's the thing, a mother bear will abandon her cubs to save herself. And another nation, they only exist to be not you. Someone else to take land and resources you could use.

To even put him within England's grasp was insanity.

It would be like Cronus devouring Zeus, they decided. It was unnatural, immoral, and crime against nature itself. The very fact that England could desire such a thing was proof that he was unfit to rule them. If America lived, it was proof that they were always meant to be separate from England.

This was a risk, a huge risk. But they'd already made one. England already knew he existed and if they lost, Lord have mercy, England would not let him live. In which case, the fates of his generals were just as bleak. They needed an ally and France was their best chance. Probably their only chance.

France and England had been trying to kill each other for centuries. And they'd come close to doing it. His ambassadors had heard multiple stories of the nations coming back from the front lines with mouths lined by gore, deep oozing rivets in their limbs and across their chests. They gave up any semblance of humanity when they met.

He did not know if he was the first to represent this land or not. There could have been another that England, France, The Netherlands, or any number of others had consumed.

He couldn't get that image out of his mind. Even though he knew it couldn't be true, he still pictured the faceless nation with sharp teeth like an alligator or a shark. He ran his tongue over his own teeth every time he thought of it. France had to look just as human as he did.

One of his soldiers held the door open for his guest. He appeared to be human, albeit a beautiful one. His hair was not powdered, and the gold was held back by a ribbon. He could not tell in the red in his cheeks and lips were natural or painted on. France's uniform had to be the finest thing he had ever seen. It was heavy with embroidery and layers of lace. He dressed like the whole world should be kissing his feet and proud to do so.

America clenched his fists as he felt his hands begin to shake. He forced air into his lunges. This was the moment.

France's eyes landed on him immediately. Then he looked away. It was a dismissal if he ever saw one. The soldier hadn't even left the room it was so fast. France took a seat with all the grace of a mountain cat. He leaned back. He folded his hands in front of him and looked at the soldier expectantly.

"It will not do to keep me waiting." The words themselves sounded like a threat. It wasn't.

The soldier gaped at France, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. France's eyes narrowed. The soldier glanced at America for help. America almost laughed. All that worrying and France looked right over him. He had always thought that they would instantly know him. He had imagined England seeing him across a field and throwing the full might of his army against him. But here France sat half a room away and didn't know.

France's head snapped back to America, "No! It can not be America?" France swept out of his seat turning to fully face America. He looked him up and down. His lips pursed and his head tilted ever so slightly. A brief image of a cat readying to pounce flashed into his mind.

"I had thought you would be much smaller, a child perhaps, but here you are nearly fully grown." France sauntered forward. He reached out. America wanted to leap back and away from the danger. Instead he smiled. France's eyes widened, his pupils dilated. His own lips curved upwards in response. He cupped America's face in his palms. He tilted America's face this way and that. America let him trying not to think about the likelihood of France ripping off his head. "A happy circumstance for you, England may not be able to kill you so easily. Of course, there are a good many things that are worse than death." France laughed as if the thought pleased him.

France patted his cheek and released him. "So, little one, you have called me here for what purpose?"

America blinked. "I'm sorry, did they not tell you?" They had to have. He wouldn't come without knowing, why would he? He wouldn't have and Thomas wouldn't have contacted France without telling him everything. The bastard just wanted to hear him say it. "We want to help each other. We want to be your ally."

France's eyes danced. "We are not at war with England. We need no allies against him."

"And we want to help you remedy that."

France pressed a hand to his chest. "America! That is a very serious accusation. One would wonder just what you think of me?"

America raised an eyebrow.

France held his 'offended' position for a few minutes. His shoulders slowly began to shake with suppressed laughter. "Well, you are bold America. Tell me just why I should not let England crush you into dust."

"Other than you wanting to crush England?" France laughed. "I'm no threat to you. An ocean separates us." Besides, America thought, I'm the New World. Why should I be ruled by the Old?

"I have held land on this continent before and I will again. Do not act like you are untouchable." Nor should you believe that I'll let you run wild over here."

America shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I didn't ask for that. I said we should be allies."

France waved a hand as if he could brush the suggestion away. "I have had allies before. They did not throw their nations at my feet." He tilted his head. His tongue ran along his bottom lip. His smile was purely predatory. "It is like they have no care at all for your safety," he cooed.

A chill ran down America's spine. This was it. They would either succeed or France would rip out his throat. His men would never get here in time to save him. God wouldn't that be funny.

America laughed just once and quietly. France's grin faulted. The second laugh was louder. The third was quickly followed by many more.

"What did I break you so easily?" France was no longer leering at him. Instead he was pouting in disappointment. Which wasn't a good sign for negotiations. But he had relaxed and no longer looked quite ready to pounce. At least this way America would have time to realize France had killed him before he died.

America snorted. "No. No I'm just thinking you're going to do England's job for him. Before he even seen me."

"And that's funny to you."

"A little bit," America said around giggles.

France sighed. "You are a strange one, America."

"If you say so." America paused to get his breathing under control. "But I'll be honest with you, France. I'm here because my people think it's best." He let that statement hang in the air. He squeezed his fist before taking his gamble. "I don't want you here. My skin is crawling just looking at you. I'm going after England with or without you. And I'll win. I'm giving you a chance to get in on this now. It's up to you whether or not you're wasting your time."

France scoffed. He leaned against the table and folded his arms. He glared at America. When he spoke, his accent was thick, and his voice was clipped. "I make your skin crawl. What about dear old mother England?"

"The worst."

France clicked his tongue. "You say I'm wasting your time. You realize I could kill you." America shrugged.

"You could kill a great many nations but you're talking to me." He waited for France to respond. He'd tried politeness and he'd tried reason. If this didn't work at least he'd die with his pride intact.

France shook his head. He said something in French that America didn't catch. When he raised his head he had a rueful smile on his face. "Very well America. I'll ally with you. But I caution you to be more careful in the future."

America smiled back at him. He gave a slightly mocking salute. "Noted."

He was not sure what France would do now. Humans shook on deals most times but their alliance would be signed. France stood before him once more. He cupped his chin between his thumb and pointer finger. He tilted America's face up to peer down at him. He hummed. "You are something new. I do hope you survive this rebellion of yours. I think I'll have fun with you."

"You too."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave a kudo or a review if you have the time. They're always appreciated.   
> I literally started this fic years ago... I got a little carried away and started working on a sequel for this. It'll probably titled Reward and it'll be FrUS.


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